Rose Red
by Marie Hawkins
Summary: She had always hated the red hair she'd inherited from her father, always despised that color. Until along came a man that made her feel differently, if only for a while. Oneshot.


The Earl of Phantomhive. Angelina felt increasingly out of place when she was beside him. Yet, she had an odd desire to be by his side at all times. His demeanor was gentle and his words were kind. Angelina knew that she was quite homely, and that her fiery red hair was quite unsightly. She wasn't proud of herself. Especially not today.

The garden was quiet. It was where she liked to be to think. Or to be alone. She stared ahead at the bush of red roses as she sat on the bench, swinging her feet back and forth. She heaved a sigh.

"Red roses," she muttered. "How can you wear that color so proudly?" she asked. "I wish I could. I wish I didn't despise myself." She played with her braid. "I wish my hair was blond like Rachel's." Angelina sighed once more. It seemed all she did was wish to be different than who she was. She hated being awkward, but more than anything she hated her red hair. Her father had given it to her, and she was one of the only girls she knew with such an unsightly hair color. She didn't want to stand out. She wanted to fit in.

'No one wants to court a red head,' she thought, childishly.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She immediately looked toward the source of the noise, and saw him, the Earl of Phantomhive looking just as regal as ever. He smiled and continued to walk toward her. Angelina's heart pumped and she jumped to her feet as he approached.

"There is no need for that," he said, motioning for her to sit. "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, his blue eyes gleaming. Angelina shook her head, and looked at the ground. The Earl was always so kind to her. Though most men thought her still a child, he treated her as though she were an adult. Even Angelina knew she had not attained the maturity of a woman, yet the Earl always purposefully overlooked that fact.

"What has you so captivated by this garden?" he asked, thoughtfully. "I have noted that you come here often." He patiently awaited her response.

"I- I suppose because," she said slowly, "I feel at ease here." Her eyes were still plastered to the ground. Though she was not touching the Earl, the short distance between them was zapping with energy.

"Why is that?" the Earl asked with a hint of a smile.

"Because I am comically colored," she replied. "Much like the flowers. Everywhere I go, I stand out. I am nothing more than an ornament. No one takes me seriously." She was surprised at her sudden gush of feelings, though nothing could be done to take back what she had said. It was all true, however.

The Earl was silent for a moment, and then stood. He walked to the rose bush, and picked one, studying its deep scarlet color. He smiled faintly and sat beside Angelina once more.

"A rose is a beautiful thing," he said. "A rose is a symbol of passion. It is different from all the other flowers in a most intriguing and beautiful way." He turned to her. "As for being comically colored," he said, laughing lightly, "I disagree. Your red hair is truly beautiful, Anne. It's like the color of licorice that burns a landscape. Red suits you very well."

Angelina dared to glance over at him. Had she been acting foolishly all this time? If the Earl found beauty in her, why couldn't she find beauty in herself? Perhaps she didn't stick out in the horrid way she'd imagined. Perhaps because she was different, she was intriguing- as the Earl said.

He offered her the rose. She took it, her fingers catching fire as they brushed the Earl's. She stared down at the petals, a new appreciation for the coat of color they held. It had depth, beauty, and brought out a deep sense of passion. If red did indeed suit her well, perhaps she could magnify these qualities within herself. Perhaps she could become desirable to someone like the Earl.

"Perhaps," said the Earl, standing, "you would care to show me the rest of the garden?" He offered her his arm. She stood.

"Of course," she said, taking his arm. She removed her eyes from the ground and looked at the Earl but couldn't quite meet his eyes. As she took his arm, however, she felt some of her girlish shyness and insecurity begin to fade. She felt the beginning of a transformation and wondered if this was how a woman felt. She felt important, she felt like she belonged. Angelina was no longer ashamed of who she was.

In that moment she realized, she was going to change for the better. She loved her red hair that was so odd, she loved that deep color. But most of all, she loved the Earl of Phantomhive.


End file.
